I put my head against the wall, accepting my fate of having to sit even longer. I start to close my eyes but become wide awake when I hear “Clavamox! Antibiotic!” in a squawk, a dog's incessant barking and a woman yelling at said dog to stop antagonizing the parrot. I check on Lupe, seeing if any of this affected her. Nope still just sitting there, looking as sick as a dog, er cat. While checking on her, I can hear the bell jingle, indicating someone has entered the clinic, but don’t really pay any attention to who it is, until I hear him talk.

“Hi, yes, I have an appointment at 3pm for my cat, Wolfram.”

That voice, so snotty, so overly pretentious, so…grating. Why did it seem familiar?

“But I have an appointment at 3!”

“Yes Mr. Gold I understand that but the vet is still busy with previous patients. There was an emergency outbreak of fleas at the animal shelter that had to be taken care of. Apparently the circus’ trained fleas aren’t so well-trained.”

“But do you know who I am? I’m Ethan Gold, violin extraordinaire!”

Ah, that’s who he is. I start to feel anxious, then wonder why—I didn’t go out with him, nor is he my boyfriend’s ex.

“Sir, that’s all well and good, but unless you’re a vet or flea trainer extraordinaire, it’s not going to be much help. So why don’t you sit down in one of the chairs, and imagine you’re in Carnegie Hall, playing Mozart or something.”

I try to hold my laughter in, but instead I just sound like I’m being strangled. Everyone turns towards me so I immediately stare at Lupe, acting distracted; like that noise I just made was just a normal, everyday occurrence. I hear an exaggerated sigh and then a slight breeze as someone sits down next to me.

“Can you believe the nerve of these people?”

I look to my right and of course, he decided to sit next to me.

“I have an appointment at three but SOMEBODY apparently doesn’t understand appointments, or how some of us have important places to be.”

“Uhh yeah. My appointment was at 2:00, but what can ya do? I mean, I guess you could leave, but you know, wouldn’t want to do that to poor Lupe, er my cat. It’s not too bad sitting here-that wall over there is pretty interesting—stare at it long enough and it looks like it’s moving. And the parrot randomly says things every now and then. Usually about prescriptions, antibiotics or dog food, but occasionally it says something dirty like “dick” or "fuck" and it’s funny to watch everyone’s reactions.”

He stares at me like I’m crazy, and to be fair after re-playing what I just said over in my head, I can’t say I blame him.

“So, er, you have a cat too?” I point to his carrier, hoping to change the subject, not completely sure why I even feel the need to interact with him.

“Yes. This is Wolfram. He’s quite the cat. Aren’t you? Aren’t you? Aww yes, you’re so cute. With your little button nose. Aw, but somebody has the sniffles. But daddy is taking care of you! Yes he is! Mr. Doctor man will make everything better, shnookums.”

This time I’m the one staring in awestruck horror. And he had the nerve to give me the crazy eye?! I wasn’t sure if I should move or start gagging.

“How about your cat? Can I see your cat?’

He has this almost crazed look, so I hand him my carrier. I’m too dumb-founded by everything to register that he’s opened the cage and is holding her.

“Look at this kitty! Aww you’re just precious! You and Wolfram should get together and have little babies! They’d be sooo adorable, Yes they would, oh yes they would! With you beauty and Wolfram’s genius you’d be king and queen of the cat world so your little kitties would be princes and princesses! Yes they would!”

The whole time he’s saying this, he’s rubbing noses with her, giving her Eskimo kisses. Then he starts jostling her a bit and I remember why we’re at the pet clinic.

“I uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You see, Lupe…”

Then it happens- And not just a fur ball or dry cat food. Oh no. It’s wet, yellowish-pinkish, with a few bits of food and something green? Ah, she probably ate my plant! Bad Lupe! Anyway, I digress. It’s all over his fake-leather jacket, and on his face. His scruffy goatee thing is covered and I don’t know if I should cry out in disgust or laugh with glee.

“Lupe has been throwing up. She seems to have the flu or something.”